


One Summer Night

by incoherentpiffler



Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gentleness, Leonard watches Daniel develop photos, M/M, Purely Daniel/Leonard but other characters mentioned, Secret Relationship, Sleeping Together, They are very much in awe of one another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incoherentpiffler/pseuds/incoherentpiffler
Summary: What Leonard got up to in the night of Series 4, Episode 1.





	One Summer Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written primarily in the bath. There are only two episodes of the fourth series left, I demand more Leonard and Daniel content, therefore I created my own.
> 
> I have so much love for their love and I pray that the two of them find happiness - I will remain optimistic...
> 
> Please enjoy! There is a severe lack of Leonard/Daniel on here.
> 
> xxx

The unexpectedly ideal excuse to spend the night at Daniel's came to Leonard in the form of a family of social activists. As concerned as he was for their safety, he - potentially too enthusiastically - permitted Sidney his bed (unaware of the fact it was inevitably left unused...) and packed lightly to venture along the meadow that very evening. Leonard, personally, was no fan of surprises, but he felt Daniel would be willing to accept him as lodger.

Being a summer's evening, about eight o'clock, the sun was only faltering, despite the late hour. Leonard wandered, quite tentatively, to Daniel's house, gently entering and closing the gate. He heard echoes of the radio from inside.

It took at least five of Leonard's benevolent knocks for Daniel to switch off the radio and answer the door. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms glistening with dish soap. He must have been doing the dishes.

He was smiling, though with underlying concern, as he tended to with Leonard. He bowed his head and stepped aside.

'I've told you before, Leonard, you are free to come in uninvited, whenever you'd like,' he said, allowing the curate through the door, hooking the latch as he closed it behind him.

'I wasn't too sure whether you wanted to be disturbed,' Leonard mumbled, surveying the room. Daniel had quite a modest home, windowsills homing house plants, and crochet blankets dressing the settee. It was a cluttered space, yet quite eclectically so, with magazines and filing boxes, filled with photographs. Leonard always liked to imagine that his piles of books would be quite a pleasant addition.

'You should know by now that my nights almost always consist of terrible radio plays and developing terrible photographs...'

Leonard found that he could naturally be quite self-deprecating.

Daniel looked at the duffle bag in Leonard's hand. 'What brings you here, anyway?' He smiled softly, leaning against the kitchen sink, drying his hands with a gingham cloth. It was embroidered with daffodils. Leonard remembered buying them him for Valentine's day. _How very romantic,_ Daniel had said, _How very Leonard._

'Er - I don't suppose you would be willing to let me stay-'

'The night?'

'Y-yes. It's just there's been a stabbing, and, the victim's family are unsafe and-' he felt Daniel take the bag from his hand and watched him place it on the coffee table. That must have been a _yes_.

'So Sidney decided to let them all stay at the vicarage and threw you out onto the streets,' he jested, looking up at the ridiculous man on the doormat.

'Not...necessarily - I - I told them I would stay here. Just told them I would be by myself...'

He was encouraged to sit down by Daniel, who had ventured to the settee, for he had envisaged quite a story coming along and hoped to make himself comfortable.

'What was your escape from Mrs C's suspicions this time around, then?' Daniel implored, rather adoringly. He leant on his fist and watched Leonard sit beside him.

'Fishing. You are, according to me, fishing.'

Daniel scoffed, ' _Fishing?_ Leonard, does it look like-'

'I- it was the first thing that came to mind...'

He sat straightly against the back of the settee and gazed at a floral still-life on the wall. There were caws of a crow outside. Then, chuckling. It was Daniel.

Leonard frowned, as he allowed the snickering man move and rest his head on his shoulder.

'Of all the notably masculine past-times. Unless you were purposefully alluding to something on the more _lewd_ side. Tackles and all that-'

Leonard nudged him - it was unbelievably gentle.

'You know I am not that clever with words,' he sighed, crossing a leg over the other as he readjusted his position. 'Geordie didn't appear too impressed with my lying.'

'You could have got away with _camping_ -' to this, Leonard sighed. Daniel was aware of his sensitivity and of, unfortunately, how sensitive he was to his humour.

He decided to change the subject.

'That poem you intend to perform at tomorrow's fête consists of many, many words.' Daniel picked up his hand, kissing it softly. 'Surely that makes you not only _clever_ with words, but particularly qualified to use them.'

'I do hope you are not expecting me to recite to you as a lovesick poet would,' he mumbled, looking at Daniel. 'I wouldn't say I was sentimental enough.'

'Leonard Finch? _Not_ sentimental? I seem to remember your cigarette box contains not cigarettes, but postcards and love letters. 'I would say you are _miles_ more sentimental than I am.'

'How did you find that? The box?' Leonard stuttered.

'You told me. I think, on the night of Mrs C's wedding. " _Maybe people aren't ready for us to be honest - we should at least be honest with ourselves,_ " you said, then we kissed, then you said, "Actually, Daniel, if I am honest with you now, I never got rid of your postcards - they're in a cigarette box that my father gave me, which I keep in the bedside table..." But you _were_ rather drunk.'

'As were you.' Leonard rested his chin on top of Daniel's head, and sighed into his hair. 'I am incapable of any sentiment now; I have had quite a busy day.' He smiled and closed his eyes.

'Would you rather not talk about it?' Daniel implored, playing with Leonard's palm.

'No,' the curate mumbled, gently weaving his arm around Daniel's waist. 'I missed out on seeing _The King and I_ at the pictures, an iced bun, and Mrs C's cottage pie for tea.'

Daniel smiled at Leonard's composure. He knew he would have to take him to the pictures himself. 'I suppose the grisly murder passed you by then,' he speculated. 'It must have been bad, to put those people into hiding.'

'I suppose it did pass me by,' said Leonard, considering his own empathy. 'I think I was partially distracted by the loss of my shoe.'

'Another thing you lost today?'

'It appears so. I shall have to make posters.'

'Oh, Leonard.'

There was a lingering moment of silence, as Daniel considered whether Leonard had fallen asleep, or was preoccupied with his busy mind. He, then, remembered the class photo commission he was expected to post tomorrow morning, and how said photos were presently undeveloped in his dark room. He sat up.

'What is it?' asked Leonard, eyes opening, following Daniel who had stood and began to file through a box entitled '090654SCHOOL.'

'You either have the jolly decision of making yourself comfortable there with one of your books, which I presume you have brought (he most certainly had,) or you can watch me do this.'

An interesting proposition, Leonard thought, though he felt it was about time he saw what Daniel got up to. He rubbed his eyes, stood, and followed the photographer upstairs.

Daniel switched on the red lamp. 'Take a seat,' he insisted, nodding at a small cushioned stool. The whole room smelt of chemicals, a contrast to the mellowness of downstairs.

The silence that followed was somewhat delightful, as Leonard watched the enlarging, stopping, fixing and washing of photographs, bringing images to life. There was beauty in Daniel's delicacy, as though he were performing some sort of miracle. Leonard felt compelled to stand, watching the emergence of faces; watching the concentration of Daniel.

Time had passed by the time the final photograph was pegged up to dry, and after Daniel washed and dried his hands, he turned to Leonard, who gazed about the room in awe.

'I realise, now, why everyone hires you,' Leonard murmured, looking at the magician before him, in the red light. 'You work magic.'

Daniel stepped towards him, smiling gently, 'I believe we both work magic in different ways, Leonard.'

With this, he kissed him. They kissed, surrounded by faces, a papery audience, an audience which could do nothing about the love they saw. 'It's late,' he said. 'You make yourself comfortable.' He cared so very much for him.

It _was_ late, and Leonard would have to leave early the next morning. He was led into Daniel's bedroom, a place he had only been a collection of times before.

Daniel had gone to retrieve his bag for him. When he returned, Leonard was seated on the edge of the bed, yawning.

'You may change in the bathroom, if you'd like,' Daniel divulged, conscious of Leonard's self-consciousness. 'I doubt we are drunk enough to appreciate our bodies to the fullest tonight,' he added, receiving a smirk from the curate.

'I will be out in a flash.'

A _flash_ was at least five minutes, and Leonard, emerging in striped teal pyjamas, joined a reposeful Daniel in bed, in gentle embrace.

Not many words were exchanged, a few kisses, perhaps, but the two of them quite naturally drifted into sleep.

_Far better than the armchair in the vicarage,_ Leonard thought.

 

He was awoken by Daniel, kissing him on the forehead softly, running a hand through his hair, which had naturally tousled itself through the course of the night. He smiled gently.

'What time is it?'

'About a quarter to six.' That explained why, unlike Leonard's dream of waking in sunlight, only the faintest hints of day shimmered through the curtains.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned mumbling sleepily, 'I should probably get dressed then.' Daniel unravelled himself from their repose.

'At least allow me to make you a cup of tea,' Daniel pleaded, putting on a woollen dressing gown.

'That would be wonderful,' Leonard replied, smiling, stretching. _What a beautifully domestic suggestion,_ he thought.

Daniel laughed gently and went downstairs to heat the kettle. Leonard decided he'd stay in bed - Mrs C would be overwhelmed enough making breakfast for the guests at the vicarage. He reached for his bag and picked out the book he had brought with him. Dostoevsky's _The Idiot_. Sitting against the headboard, he read, waiting.

Approximately seven minutes followed, bringing Daniel up the stairs with two yellow teacups. 'I hope my kettle didn't disturb you,' he said, sitting beside him, handing Leonard his tea after he had set his book down on his lap. He was thanked with a kiss.

They leant against one another, Daniel's head settled in the crook of Leonard's neck, breathing softly.

'Will you be coming today, to the fête, I mean?' Leonard asked, sipping his tea.

'Of course,' said Daniel, 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.' He pressed his nose against Leonard's neck, kissing him. 'I have to be there to see my own Lord Byron's recital, anyway.'

Leonard laughed to himself quietly. 'I may wander around the parish in the later hours of the evening, but that does not make me at all Byron-like.' He finished his tea, Daniel kissing him again. 'You are more of a _Vampyre_ , doing that.' Daniel stopped, smirking at him.

'I am rather comfortable, you know.'

'H-m. As am I,' he sighed. He wished every morning was as peaceful as this.

They listened to the birdsong outside. It was a moment of companionable silence.

The six o'clock bells alerted Leonard - he was on Dickens-walking duties today. He frowned, kissing Daniel softly on the forehead.

'I suppose you'll be leaving me now,' Daniel murmured, looking up at Leonard.

'Oh, don't put it like that.'

He got up, placing his book and teacup on the bedside table. Daniel, sleepily, watched him take his neatly-folded pile of clothes into the bathroom. He sighed. What a ridiculously, timidly, wonderful man. _If only every morning could start as it had today_. Then he yawned.

Leonard, once carefully dressed, poked his head out of the door, fastening his collar. He thought he hadn't taken that long, but he must have.

Daniel had fallen asleep.

He smiled softly and crept to the bedside. Sitting down warily, he re-packed his bag and put on his watch. He spent a moment watching Daniel; the loose sprig of hair casting a shadow over his forehead, the contentedness of expression, the yellow teacup balanced on his hand.

Leonard stood, hooking his bag over his arm. He picked up their cups, and before his descent down the stairs, he used his free hand to tuck Daniel in, leaving a kiss on his head.

_The most agreeable evening,_ he thought. He crept downstairs, leaving the teacups on the kitchen table. He decided, despite his denial of being sentimental, to leave a note. Using an empty paper bag from his pocket (aniseed balls, he seemed to remember,) he wrote:

 

_Daniel,_

_Thank you for letting me spend the night. Thank you for making me feel loved. I do not deserve it, I assure you._

_We will have to do this again soon._

_See you in a bit for my poetic debut..._

_Leonard_

 

And with that, he left, closing the door gently as he did so.


End file.
